


Fancy a Snog?

by eevilalice



Series: Rarepair Shorts: Draco/Theo [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: rarepair_shorts, Ficlet, First Kiss, Hogwarts Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eevilalice/pseuds/eevilalice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It's Theo's first real kiss.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fancy a Snog?

**Author's Note:**

> rarepair_shorts fic #2/13; prompt: moonlight on the forest floor

It’s Theo’s first real kiss. 

 

Beneath him, Draco looks up calmly. His hair fans out against the forest floor, shining like threads of silver in the patchy moonlight. 

 

Theo bends down, licks his lips, and presses them against Draco’s, which are dry but warm and soft. The pressure of the kiss is returned, and Theo feels the solid weight of Draco’s palm at his waist. Their lips part on a quiet _smack_ , and immediately Theo presses in again, closing his eyes and opening his mouth a bit this time to get at more of him. He sucks at Draco’s lower lip and wets it with his tongue, not really knowing what he’s doing, and the hand at his waist bunches his robes. Draco’s breath tingles along his skin, hot but alighting his nerves like snowflakes on fevered flesh, like the moonlight made tangible. 

 

Draco tastes like chocolate, dark and bitter and rich, and Theo slips his tongue into his mouth, pleasure jolting his belly and groin when Draco licks at him delicately. There’s a quiet moan that vibrates between them, and Theo can’t tell from whose throat it came. A long-fingered hand wraps around his neck, climbing into his thick, brown hair, joining the one still clutching his waist. Encouraged, Theo angles his head and begins stroking Draco’s tongue with his own, firmly and rhythmically. Draco meets him stroke for stroke, and Theo’s hand clutches at the collar of his jumper, the other digging into the packed, leaf-strewn earth beside Draco’s head. 

 

As they kiss, Theo feels Draco’s leg bend at his side, his expensive (and forest-inappropriate) shoe graze Theo’s calf and come to rest along the inside of his knee. Theo distractedly trails his hand from Draco’s chest to his hip, hooking two fingers through his belt loop and tugging. Draco makes a small noise into his mouth and lifts his hips, bumping Theo’s hand against himself. 

 

The kiss is broken, and Draco smiles up at him, halfway to a smirk but eyes too full of heat and wonder. Theo’s never seen such a look on anyone before, let alone Draco; he wants to make a study of it, a term project, a career. 

 

He flushes and worries about his own expression, probably open-mouthed and stupid, loony like Lovegood. He hopes his position over Draco has kept him in shadow but drops his face against Draco’s neck just in case, not thinking that could be worse. Not thinking because Draco smells like mint, and there’s the chocolate again, too, from tea and sweets in the common room after dinner. Before they came out here for an Herbology project and Draco pulled him aside, saying, “Fancy a snog?” 

 

Theo pushes himself up and off Draco and gets to his feet, brushing dirt and stray bits of leaves from his hands and robes. Draco does the same, running fingers through his disheveled hair, smoothing it. They’re cast pale in moonlight, the spot where they kissed an undisturbed patch of leafy, silvery ground, and before Draco can say anything, Theo turns to leave. He can smell Draco on his robes and maybe in his hair, and he wrenches some fronds they need for class from the ground as he walks.

 

“Well don’t get them all,” he hears from behind him. He stops.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Don’t you want a reason to come back here tomorrow night?” Draco’s voice is closer, wicked, and it cleaves Theo as if he were the most tender flesh, boneless.

 

Theo turns and sees that look again: fake-smugness, awed hunger.

 

“I already have one,” he says and lets the hunger into his own eyes.


End file.
